Good Ghosts
by Catchingbreaths
Summary: "To make pure." After the war that's what Katniss and Peeta desperately deserved. To be rid of these scars, memories and pain. For the war left them stained and broken. They needed to be pure - A scattered story surrounding around the whole THG trilogy.
1. The Wash

Good Ghosts

The Rebuilding of the 74th Victors

The breakdown

**The Wash**

It's quite hard for one to keep gripping onto something, with a force pulling it towards an opposite direction. The tightening of hands, with nails digging into the palms of such hands—this is not nearly enough to keep someone from being pulled away. The feel of steadiness may occur though. But one does not dare loosen their grip from their hold. Any feeling of content, balance, or comfort—it is not to be mistake. For it stands very close to the feeling of release, free falling, and loss. Oh, how discouraging it is to have the two opposites stand so closely together. At one moment, the hope of regain and stability overcomes the weight of loss and release. At another, the lack of faith in positive consistency overcomes the stability that was once so comforting—and is now saddening to know that such positive waves never last.

At any moment's notice, Katniss Everdeen is in battle. A sharp, deft arrow would be at the careful control of her steady fingertips—aimed at bodies, numerous bodies, lined up in perfect order in their wait to be executed. And she, Soldier Everdeen, aimed for the heart—person after person. No remorse. For they were just targets. And as she watched the next faceless body move into her view, the last body had just dropped from her last blow begins excessively leak red liquid. Blood. And once she kills one, she can't will herself to stop killing others. Suddenly the smell of iron is filling the air, so strong, so potent.

And then she is pulled from the violent reality—and shoved into cold, dark days in the games. A cold, damp and dark cave. And suddenly she is laid out on a flat rock with her back taking in all the coolness from the rock. As if she wasn't wearing her jacket and shirt, as if it's chilling to her skin right through her bone. She is no longer a soldier; instead just a player in The Hunger Games, opting to survive. She closes her eyes shut in such a tight manner it tightens the feeling of her brain—trying to grab onto something, a memory, a reality, something she can hold steady too. And then she feels him.

But he, just like her, battles to hold onto something unmoving. Peeta Mellark wished it to be her though. Through his ever changing transitions from reality, to a memory, and to a dream. Each of them he could tie himself to her—but she was moving from her own realities, memories and dreams. And he couldn't follow. However he couldn't blame her. After a certain point his realities and memories, they don't all contain her. Katniss wasn't there through his tortuous stay in the Capitol, she wasn't there getting hijacked beside him, she wasn't there when he got the news his parents, his family, they were all obliterated. Upon awakening, he finds himself wrapped around Katniss—warm, delighted, and happy. And with eyes closed, he is pulled into the deep gravitation of pain. Screams. Blood. His blood. _He never meant to hurt anybody_. And he's screaming this now. He blinks rapidly during these times—in hopes to wake himself up, in hopes to see the sun shining in through the bedroom. Any bedroom, any place. But instead he's takes the pain until he's unconscious and wakes again somewhere else.

To the two, Katniss and Peeta, they were in The Wash. They were rinsed with water, once more rinsed with added chemical and dyes, and rinsed again. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.


	2. Absoluteness

One

Absoluteness

There, in the air, it was flowing. Gracefully moving from one bed to the next, passing through the curtains that divided each bed. It was swift and silent—flowing over the tiles that covered the floor. It settled upon human flesh. A sickly gas that knew no compassion and lacked much of a conscious. The gas, though, did have a mind. A strange nucleus that controlled its effects and its targets. It didn't pass an opportunity to settle upon human flesh. Sinking into their skin and invading their bloodstream. They inhaled this gas unknowingly. However inhumane this gas sounded—it was made to benefit the patients. For they were sick. So, so sick.

_Facere Putus_, they call the gas. Latin for, "To make pure." The cloudy white gas resembles the look of fog across the city. Facere Putus, shortened FP, was Beetee and Dr. Aurelius' invention. A sort of, medication for the mentally unstable. It floods into the bloodstream of the patients and attends to their blood cells—attaching themselves to nurture what the patient is lacking; blood cells, white and red, energy, water. It strengthens their losses; their immunity, the tissues, the bones. It's main benefit is the altering of the mind. Organizing the images, sounds, feels and tastes. FP pushes the memories, the painful and the satisfying, and releases the sentiments that circulate them. Leaving the patient with memories, images of their realities. It neutralizes them. It purifies the mind.

"She looks dead."

Gale Hawthorne was the first to speak among the watchful eyes that witnessed the first run of the FP trials. His arms were crossed, with one hand balled in a fist, supporting this chin. There was question in his eyes, yet, he did not speak of any. Regardless he hadn't had much to ask. He stood in front of the large window that looked into the hospital room. Settled into the room are two patients, side by side on hospital beds. Monitors surrounded the two. Wires and tubes that supported these patients to stay alive during their prolonged slumber through these trials. The walls were a calm off white and the tiles were an array of browns, beiges, and blacks. Another window was on the side of the patients overlooking the Capitol. They were high up.

"She's just sleeping," Gale speaks again, after no one beside him makes an effort to speak. Beetee was helping the nurse of the two patients with directions on setting up cameras in the room. The nurse placed one at the far tops of the walls, the corners, beside their beds, and in their monitors. Soon after Beetee received feedback of the cameras on the screens that were faced him on a desk. Their room, had been separated by the thick one sided window. Just a large window that, on their end, was clear and peered into the hospital room. On the opposite end, it appeared to be just another off white wall. Their room was small though, full of Beetee's technology and papers. Projectors that screened on a wall—sometimes of the news, sometimes connecting onto Beetee's computer for a larger view. It was lit up by a desk lamp—although small, very potent and filled the whole room.

Inside the room were Gale, Beetee, Dr. Aurelius, and Mrs. Everdeen. Minutes pass and others arrive—Johanna, Plutarch and last to enter, Haymitch. The seven marvel at the two patients in silence.

"That looks perfect," Beetee speaks into a microphone that projects into the hospital room, "That will be all, Nurse." The nurse nods and leaves through the room door and into the hallways of the hospital.

"So," Dr. Aurelius breaks the tension of discomfort, "Once we release the FP from the bedroom vents, things will start to begin. Initially, it will begin with the skin. Working its way to repairing the skin of these two—removing such things like burns, scars and marks. Skimming off scabs, things like that. Then, their skin will absorb the FP and begin its internal repairing. Purifying their blood and bodily functions. Repairing any bone damage, muscle tearing, and patching up internal bleeding. Then, what we all hope, the FP will then work on their minds."

"How do we know if it works?" Haymitch speaks, his voice coarse from his previous night of drinking. This surprises the rest of the company, for his hearing his voice was quite rare. Though, he was always around.

Gale nods in agreement, awaiting the answers from the inventors. "We've connected wires into them that scan everything internal. From something simple like a heartbeat, to the functions of the brain." Beetee touches the screen on his computer and suddenly the projector is screening what could only be the graphs and maps of the patients internal playground. It's monitoring their pulse and blood pressure—data that is collected and kept in the corner of the screen. A box is dedicated to their brain. The main focus of this experiment. "The areas that are vacant, are left clear. The areas with color—for instance, the colors each represent a memory that contains a sentiment. The blue is negative, the red is a memory containing physical pain, and the yellow is positive. The variation of the colors—lets say green—would indicate a memory in which contained both negative and positive thoughts. The color the most dominant at the time, is the memory that the two are thinking of."

"The FP will then attach itself to these memories and lessen their weight—their colors will then fade, and stored into their brains—pertaining no color—thus, becoming neutral." Dr. Aurelius explains.

The seven remain silent again. Just thoughts. Thoughts like, 'Will this work?' or 'I hope this is safe.'

"I really hope this works," Mrs. Everdeen sighs, "I already lost one daughter—I refuse to lose another to herself."

Beetee nods and gives Dr. Aurelius a look. Dr. Aurelius then pushes a button that resides on the far end of their viewing window. Beetee then presses a button on his computer screen and begins recording.

_"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, attempt to relieve them of their mental instability, Facere Putus trial number one."_


	3. The Decision

**Quick thanks to those who put this story under Story Alert. I'd love to hear some feedback, please review guys! **

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><p>Two<p>

The Decision

(Two Weeks Prior To the Trials)

"That was quick," Peeta said as the screams from the house beside him begins. He sat in his kitchen table with Gale Hawthorne, whom nods in agreement to Peeta. They just left Katniss in the comfort of her home as soon as she began to seem hostile. Soon after she began screaming. The two were sitting casually drinking a glass of Haymitch's favorite white liquor. They await Haymitch's arrival to watch the news and assess some things; particularly things about the recently deceased war. Gale opens his mouth to talk, however another scream lets out, instead he just sighs.

"I want to help her," Peeta says before taking another sip. He winces as the liquid passes his throat, a pass of what feels to be liquid fire. Gale follows him, and drinks. No wincing, no click of the tongue to shake the taste. Just a pure sip, as if he's drinking water. It was hard for Peeta to be around Gale. To be friends. But Gale was a man—he was an adult now, although just two years older. And Peeta thought, perhaps, he was just a boy compared to Gale. He shakes the thought and returns to speaking.

"I want to help her, but-."

"She doesn't want it." Gale nods and looks down at his glass. "Yeah."

Peeta echoes him, "Yeah."

"Katniss," Gale shakes his head in distaste, "She's trying too hard. Everyone knows she's delirious now. Everyone knows she's…different. There's no point in trying anymore. Just, just be who you are. You know? Just be…"

"I guess there's not a word for it," Peeta says lightly, hoping to help Gale smooth out his sentence.

"Just be a part of this," He finishes. He nods, as if to agree with himself. "Part of this aftermath."

Peeta winces as Katniss releases another scream, this time, calling after her late sister, Primrose. Gale tries to speak over her, "I can't tell if she's awake or sleeping anymore. I'm in her house, trying to get her to hunt with me, and she's walking around the house, just walking. And she's calm, way too calm. I ask her, 'Hey Catnip, what're you doing walking around like that?' And you know what she tells me? She says, so confidently, 'I'm looking for Prim, she hasn't come home from school yet. Have you seen her?' What was I supposed to say to that Peeta?"

This was what the two held in common. Their overall concern for Katniss Everdeen brought them close—something that initially gave them reason to distance each other, had changed over the duration of the war. Something like an agreement. They would be civil as long as the other wouldn't hurt or endanger her in anyway. That was an inevitable agreement. And whoever happens to exceed passed the label of "_protector,_" then the other would respect it. It was unspoken, but it was a given. However it was more about who wanted it more. The two both knew who it was—but they both figured that they'd both at least give it a try, to make it even.

"I'm heading to District 2," Gale announces. "I'll be working with a special team there and they want me to lead them."

"A team?" Peeta raises an eyebrow.

"A highly intelligent team, working on new weapons, technology, and strategies. I get to travel from district to district—and they think they've found other nations beyond districts 1 through 13. We're going to try and gain them into Panem." Gale sounds almost proud now, but he suppresses it upon seeing Peeta's face.

Peeta then encourages him to take the job. By the look of Gale's face, Peeta wasn't masking his opposing opinion quite well. However Gale just accepts his encouragement. A deep conversation that didn't pertain to Katniss just felt wrong. Or more so, weird. He assumes Peeta acknowledges this, given he kept didn't say another word. Instead the two poured more into their glasses and toasted their drinks before downing it.

"Well, well, well."

The hoarse voice of Haymitch Abernathy fills the house as he entered through Peeta's front door. He's walking boldly, allowing himself to make a strong impact on the floor as he steps into the kitchen. His long graying blonde hair was falling over his face, and with a swift movement of his hands, it tamed and his face comes into view. His blue eyes were cloudy and it was quite obvious from his strange odor he hadn't changed his clothes in a few days. The same button down shirt and gold vest he quite often wore. He was an image hard to digest—however he was there, a strong mentor and friend, for both Peeta and Katniss. It was hard to dismiss him due to the way he had carried himself after all he had done for them.

Haymitch puts an arm around Peeta and another around Gale after acknowledging their drinks. He takes the bottle and lifts it in the air before taking a drink, "To Katniss! Eh boys?"

Gale shrugs him off in disgust. Peeta shakes his head, "Let's just watch the news."

The three move into Peeta's living room. The projector is already screening the Capitol's general program. Peeta takes a sit on his couch, Haymitch beside him, and Gale standing with his arms crossed.

"_Updates on Beetee, Panem's highly acclaimed defense and military technician would like to give an update on his inventions_." A woman in the Capitol's usual brightly color hair says. The camera's then switch to Beetee—whom is shown on a podium with many people in front of him. A press conference. An announcement.

"Ol' Beetee's standing," Gale says proudly, referring to Beetee's old subject of travel and mobility being a wheelchair.

"_I have been working on a new drug with a talented doctor, Dr. Aurelius. It's to honor the peace that President Paylor is spreading across the districts. It is nothing new to hear that many have been affected by the reign of former President Snow, and the war that raged on to fight against his power. Many have died-so many good people have died. And those who survived—are currently suffering with living daily life without feeling pain from the war. So many refuse to allow themselves to make peace with the other districts. The Hunger Games sorely pulled Panem apart as a nation. However this new drug will unite us. It will shed light on the positive—and erase the bad history that can further harm us by looking back._"

"Sounds like bullshit," Haymitch mutters. However Peeta is now engaged. He leaned in, as if to leave Haymitch's opinion of Beetee's invention behind.

"_Facere Putus. Latin for To Make Pure. It is no secret President Snow was using tracker jacker venom in able to hijack some of those who had disobeyed him. Facere Putus, let's say FP, is the opposite. It feeds on positivity—memories and thought. It takes away negative images, negative thoughts, and replace them into neutral thoughts. It helps the minds of those greatly affected by the war. Those who feel as if they can't live a normal day without flashbacks and having to question those around you. Those who feel robbed from the war. Those who don't remember who they were before they started killing. Before they say someone be killed. Before they felt pain and trauma. We want to pay back those who fought this war. We want to give them their lives back._"

His pitch was perfect, in Peeta's eyes. He stood up slowly, hearing Gale and Haymitch bicker over Beetee's announcement. And silently he peeled out of the room and walked out of his home. He knew how to help her. He knew now how to save her.


	4. Abandonment

**As much as I love a lovely Peeta and Katniss romance Fan Fic, it was fun writing this chapter-and to bring back the 'Hijacked' Peeta. I hope you guys enjoy this exceptionally dark chapter. **

**Thank you to everyone who has been story alerting this fic btw! I greatly appreciate it, and I'm glad you guys are following this.**

_**Review review review! I'd love to hear some feedback. ** _

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><p>Three<p>

Abandonment

Peeta held tightly to the doorknob before turning it. He thought, perhaps he should knock on her door. At least act like he hadn't known she was still awake, and enduring her nightly terrors. He thought, perhaps he should at least give her the option to pull herself together just to appear to be well. Maybe she would pretend just to open the door, give a faux smile, and allow Peeta in. But then he thought against them. And turned the doorknob opening her front door. Instead he thought that maybe if he can confront her—let her know that he himself knows that she's going through a hard time, she will put her trust into him. At least enough to hear him out. He pulled the key from the door and returned it into her pants pocket, and closed the door ever so slowly and silently behind him, as if to leave any thoughts of doubt behind him.

She's throwing things now. He can hear her rummage around upstairs. Opening doors and slamming them. Her heavy footsteps emphasize her need to move around. He heard glass shatter and suddenly he's alert of Katniss now. He's aware of her and how dangerous she may be during these episodes. He's discouraged and takes a step back but then he hears a painful moan coming from upstairs. A low, breaking moan. '_She's hurt?'_ He thought to himself. He awaits for her to stop, and he never felt so scared to approach her before. He doesn't know why, but the fear is creeping up his spine and wrapping itself around his central nervous system. He's paralyzed.

He tries to will himself to move. To shake the fear, to unwrap it from his bones that seem to keep him settled to the foyer of her home. He doesn't her anything now. No moving. No moans. No more glass shattering. No more doors opening. No more footsteps. And he listens very closely now. And although this was rather far out of reach—he feels he can just faintly make out her heart beat. As if it was possible. And suddenly he's moving toward her. Foot in front of foot, step after step, he's moving. He arrives upstairs and notices the hallway is clear.

It's almost eerie how quite it has become. And never had he walked without noise before now. He passes bedrooms and bathrooms before he reaches a room that she was in. Prim's room. It's saddening to see Katniss still harboring herself to Prim's room. '_She's gone,_' He wants to say, '_Katniss she's gone_.' But no one has the courage to tell her that. No one is brave enough to wake Katniss up from her episodes where she still believes Prim is alive. And no one is brave enough to tame her when Katniss realizes Prim is gone. Perhaps now, with the destruction Katniss has made around her, she enduring the reality once more.

Peeta's eyes scan the area. Katniss sits on Prim's bed, above the mess on the floor she's made. Clothes, Prim's close were on the floor. The vase that sat on her window that used to house the flower Prim was named after, is now on the floor shattered. There was a trail of blood from the shattered glass and it's pathway to the bed. She looks at Peeta now, almost as if she knew he was here since he walked into her house. Her gray eyes are cloudy and the whites of her eyes were a sickly pink, almost red. Her lips are trembling to succumb to a smile—but she fails to portray the honest smile she was trying to give off. She raises her hands to comb it through her hair, starting at the crown of her head. Her brown tresses are now wet with something. He can barely make it out. Blood. And as she wipes her face of tears that are beginning to fall, the blood stains her face. A chill goes through Peeta's spine once again and his body refuses him to get closer.

"I couldn't break the vase," She explains, "I tried to crush it myself, but it wasn't letting me. So I smashed it on the floor." She looks down at the mess she created. "It fell on her clothes Peeta. I tried…I tried to pick them up in my hands, I tried to smell her…maybe her clothes still…still smell like her."

And now she's on her knees. Picking up a yellow dress and lifting it towards her nose. There was glass trickling down from the dress, and it's inevitable she gripped some in her hands.

"Prim," she whispered.

And suddenly, then, just then, Peeta is pulled from his reality. From Katniss and her suffering. From this night. And pushed far into his reality and all that he had tried to suppress for a very long time. And he can't help it.

_Peeta's arms were planted beside him. His body straight and facing upward, was leaning against a rectangular surface. His head is aching and he can only wonder how long he's been out for. When his eyes finally come into full view of all that is around him he notices he is in a hospital. Only, it isn't as safe as a hospital usually exudes. Instead he feels watched. It is then he realizes he is not on a hospital bed, but on a table._

_"Rise and shine Peeta," President Snow circles around Peeta. "You were out for quite some time."_

_"What—," Peeta tried to sit up however he was bound to the table. Belts around his waist and cuffs on his wrists. His legs are bounded to the table, from his thighs, to his calves and his ankles. He is secured from all escape. And suddenly he begins to feel the fear of dying. And he decides, that this is it. He stops moving and instead just turns his head away from President Snow. _

_"It's about time you killed me," Peeta says bravely. In return Snow chuckles darkly. Peeta doesn't tense up though. He doesn't fear him any more than he fears dying—perhaps that's all that occurred in his mind. That he was going to die. And as he gave up, the fear washed away. He was going to die; he tried to reason with himself._

_"Kill you?" Snow sighs, "Do I seem that predictable?" _

_Peeta declines to answer. Snow straightens his back and clears his throat before commanding, "Look at me boy." _

_And he complied. Blue eyes meeting with snake-like eyes. "I wouldn't go through all this trouble with keeping you alive, if I meant to just kill you." _

_And it was quite strange, but Peeta took him to be an honest man. "So, so just let me go."_

_He thought to mention 'please' but the moment was over. He was not going to beg. President Snow begins again, "I need to keep you alive, Peeta. But I said nothing about keeping you sane." _

_Snow's fingers felt like what Peeta would suppose a snake to feel like. Smooth, scaly, and cold. They wrapped around Peeta's forearm, delicately so, and then tightly. Peeta looked down at his arm, trying to push his body upwards to survey the reason for this physical contact. He notices a needle. So close to his veins. So close to breaking skin. He shakes in effort to disturb Snow—or perhaps, to delay him. Peeta failed as he felt the sharp pinch of a needle breaking into his skin, into his veins. An invasion. _

_And then he felt it. Almost instantly. The pain of the needle subsides while the pain of this invasion courses through. It was as if his blood cells were racing to reach through his veins. This invasion of a foreign substance, it felt as if it were racing all throughout his body—like fire spreading—and they attached themselves to every hormone, every blood cell and claimed residency. He felt himself being intruded and taken over. As if someone was gaining access to his body—and soon, it spread further upwards—and it was as if someone was gaining access to his brain. To his motor abilities, to his mind, and his cognitive control. _

_"I don't want to kill you," Snow repeated, "No, I want to take control."_

_Peeta tuned Snow out. Trying to make sense of the feeling in his body. To hold onto what makes sense. Yes, he told himself, make sense. He reevaluated himself. Repeating things like his name. The color of his eyes, the color of his hair. Blond—blue—he reminded himself. He was trying hard to hold onto the thoughts that hadn't been invaded yet. Thoughts of Katniss, and life back in District 12. Katniss; her long dark tresses, the shade of gray in her eyes, the plumpness of her lips, the feel of her skin…_

_"I want you to hate everything you thought you loved," Snow says, before adding another dosage into Peeta's veins._

_Peeta continues on his memorization, as it's beginning to slip from his mind. He lets out a scream as the invasion begins to feel painful—as if his blood can't take any more of this foreign substance. It's circulating, faster now, and he's struggling to pinpoint a stable thought. Katniss; her hunting coat, her bow and arrow, the braid that sits down her shoulder and grazes her chest…Katniss; he loves her…_

_Katniss; the face of the rebellion, the killer of many innocent people, the selfish seventeen year old, the one who left him in the arena to die, the one who tried to kill you…_

He surveyed Katniss in front of him. The invasion surfacing. He sees the blood falling from her hands, the pain she is enduring, and takes a step backwards. And suddenly he doesn't remember why he came into her home. His intentions were suddenly erased and he couldn't bear the thought of being in the same room. Sharing the same air, sharing the same four walls. And without hesitation—he walks out of her room, down the stairs, and out her house.


End file.
